


In Dasses (In St Mark's Place)

by Pitseleh



Category: Cal Leandros - Thurman
Genre: Angels, Backstory fill-in, Etymology, M/M, POV First Person, Research, Worldbuilding, alternating pov, more research than necessary, voice fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-23
Updated: 2009-12-23
Packaged: 2017-10-05 02:36:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/36872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pitseleh/pseuds/Pitseleh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An experiment with POV and voice that got out of hand. How Ishiah and Robin met: take one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Dasses (In St Mark's Place)

**Author's Note:**

> This story mostly had to do with my finding the etymological root of 'peri' and deciding to write it into canon; I am very lucky with this pairing that my weird kink for fantastic history and cultural etymology actually works_ with_ them. Everywhere mentioned has a reason for being mentioned, every word has a place. I'm not sure if I can remember it all, since it's been a year, but I definitely knew what was going on at the time (maybe). Note that the second half only works if you remember a small but vital (I think) canon detail, that Ishiah owns a dog named Rover.

As you know, it is not frowned upon to go to the glades in Dasses so much as it is questioned with an odd look, a frown far more perplexed. An odd manner of creature are said to live around Dasses, around all of Orkhomenos, who are, I am told, either godless or saddled with too many gods entirely. Yofiel finds this an odd conundrum, while I am disinclined to comment, as I have no experience with any number of gods except in singular.

The creatures of Orkhomenos, I am also disinclined to comment on; I have never seen their fabled green skin, cloven-hoofed feet, hair woven through with flowers. I have never heard their music or tasted their wines. But we do know that they watch us, when we come into their lands. They call us 'pairika' from an old language not commonly spoken on these hills. Possibly it is from the incident in Avesta. I am told it means 'winged'. Avimelekh says that because such sounds are not common to the tongues of this land, slowly the colloquial is dropping the 'ka' sound at the end.

The glades in Dasses are an oddity, nevertheless. I believe Tzvuriyel has become enamored with them because he likes being watched. Though my original reason for going, myself, was to see Tzvuriyel strut and pose like a those peafowl birds near the Indus (all while pretending that business was absolutely the same as it is normally in Kesef) which is a humorous thing to see in and of itself, I will admit that I've become enamored with the place all on its own merit. It is peaceful and quiet, the water is cold and clean, and it is unlike many of the ponds I have encountered, both in our city and in Hellenikos. That is, it is a pond with fishes of many colors in it, and yet, trees grow in it, also.

I believe the creatures in Dasses watch us from them.

That would mean _they_ watch _us_ from above. It is an oddity subtle enough to almost make it an allure.

I had gone with Chazael and Tzvuriyel on yesterday, as you know, and, while washing under a phegos tree growing in the glade, I felt a tug at my hair. Before I could properly classify the feeling, it had become painful, and so, I followed it up into the trees in order to end it.

And, as you may not know, up there, I found one of these fabled creatures of Dasses... yes, of Orkhomenos. I am told that the men of the area are beginning to call it the land of Arkas. We may have to change the records.

But, these creatures, they are not as Avimelekh says. I think possibly he has been misinformed, or, at least, this one did not fit his descriptions. This one... he had no green skin, though his eyes were exceedingly that hue, as if the pigment had been drunk into his eyes, leaving his skin dark and sun-touched. While there were flowers and leaves in his hair, I did not believe they were connected to his head in any permanent way, nor were his feet that of a goat's.

And, even now, I cannot decide if the most striking thing about him was the inquisitive expression on his face, or the fact that he was holding my hair as one would a leash.

While mumbling the word I knew to be the one for apology in Arkas, I tried to retrieve my hair and climb down into the water, out of the branches of the phegos tree. The creature seemed to object, and, ignoring my apology, grabbed my head, pulling me back to him. He was speaking in a torrent of guttural sounds I knew to be of Helenikos. I do not know this tongue, and have no interest in learning its harsh sounds, but his tone was unmistakable. Bored and yet interested at the same time, like a spoiled child, he pulled me closer. Out of politeness, I let him, though I did not intend to for much longer.

And then... I had seen this before, while flying over Athineo. It is something to do with closeness, I believe. He made more noise, sounding annoyed, and punctuated his distaste by pressing his mouth to mine.

...I would prefer not to describe it. I do not know... the words.

No, I was unable to get much washing done.

Yes, I would like permission to return there, tomorrow.

•

So, as I was _saying_, the confused traveler returns to a place of comfort. Really, if _all_ vagabonds were as fair as that one had been-- is-- I'd have taken in more strays, in those days. Even better, this time, the lost little vagrant was _alone_. Truly, must all birds fly in flocks? I only wanted _one_, that shouldn't've been _too_ much of a challenge. The talk of all Arkadia, ever since they'd shown up. I simply needed my sources verified. An interview, if you will. A very _up close_, and _personal_ interview.

So I judiciously choose another tree to wait in, comfortable and sturdy, of course. For a change of pace, I decide to wait until he finds me, this time. How does it go...? Anticipation makes the heart grow... something? Whatever, the fact of the matter _is_ that this one must not always be _lead_. I'd learn that, eventually.

But, yes, at _long_ last, he did _finally_ find me. Climbing up into the higher ranches, he even smiled, for a moment, before he nodded his head, that curtain of sunbeams falling in front of the bluest eyes this side of the Balkans.

He climbs all the way up, and then huddles down in front of me, sits straight up, and holds his hands to his rib cage. It's the most adorable thing I'd ever yet seen, I think. I'm pretty sure he rehearsed it.

And in that hopelessly lyrical voice of his, he says, "Ishiah."

Because somewhere between finding my tongue down his throat he seems to have noticed we don't speak any of the same languages. But he wants me to know his name, how cute.

And he just _stares_ at me. It's the oddest thing. I shrug. "Yes, Ishiah. I get it."

He looks puzzled, for a few seconds, before shaking his head, and repeating the process with possibly more emphasis than the _first_ time-- and, no, I _didn't_ think such a thing possible-- before pointing to me.

Expectant.

Oh, very funny, so he wants my name.

Seeing as we _were_ in an_ oak_ tree, I give him the old word for that. I doubt he'd know the difference. I could've said _my_ name was Ishiah, he would probably have believed it. I don't think he knew how much of a blessing that language barrier_ was_, at the time.

"Roborem." And I tap _my_ chest, to seal the deal. Oak tree. Oaks are sacred to the cult of Pan, not that _you'd_ care.

Did I mention his hopelessly lyrical voice? He couldn't pull off the hard edges, and whistles the first bit, and he ends up with 'Robrin', which sounds like a type of _soup_, so I drop the second 'R', and he does, too, looking nearly _sheepish_, as if he's embarrassed to've gotten it wrong.

As I said, the most adorable thing.

And with that mortifying experience properly over and done with, I decide to try and teach him how to kiss, again.

But, you know the worse thing? You probably don't. The worse thing?

Roborem, the Romans stole the word. Great policy, the Romans had; they weren't afraid to take what they wanted. It's a reason we got along so well.

The Romans shortened it, though. Roborem became Robor, and then Rober, just because it sounded better. Another good thing about the Romans; they knew when the story needed editing, you know?

Of course you don't.

And then Rome fell and this whole mess with church Latin popped up and you know what Rober became?

Rover.

Look, I told you, you wouldn't get it; stop giving me that look. Just pour me the drink already, would you?


End file.
